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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29685486">spotless mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/powderblew/pseuds/powderblew'>powderblew</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>clear skies and warm nostalgia [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempt at Humor, Canon maybe, Coming of Age, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, She/Her, hi it's been 48 hours since i binged-watched haikyu, i hate 2 pov so here is 2 pov through 3 pov, it's been 100 years since i wrote a high school au i am sorry lmao, reader is female</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:34:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29685486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/powderblew/pseuds/powderblew</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the center of the sun. —Oikawa/Reader</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oikawa Tooru/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>clear skies and warm nostalgia [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>spotless mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                                                             </p><p>The thing is, she knows nothing about volleyball.</p><p>There are instances, vague memories that sometimes bubble up to the surface when the time calls for it. She played, of course, she played volleyball. In <em>school. </em>In gym class, for participation, but never for pleasure. She’s done it because she had to, as if it were a chore because it never truly brought <em>joy. </em>It’s just that. A chore.</p><p>So when she decides to attend a volleyball game because it’s raining and she didn’t feel like walking in the rain—she didn’t expect <em>this.</em></p><p>.</p><p>It’s like if she blinks, she’ll miss it.</p><p>The speed of the volleyball, the jumps, and sudden moves is exhilarating. <em>Exhilarating. </em>The words she uses to describe this—this sport is dramatic. She knows. But how else is she to capture the pure awe as she stares at these players. There are players and then there are <em>players. </em>Aoba Johsai’s team isn’t—they don’t play to just play – even though they really should – they play to win.</p><p>She’s not competitive by nature, but even she has to admit there are times when she has to compete, so she has to win because if she doesn’t win, then she loses, and if there is one thing she hates—it’s feeling inferior.</p><p>She thinks she may have that in common with Aoba Johsai’s setter—</p><p>—the setter who winks at her from the court when she’s sure her eyebrows are permanently raised.</p><p>.</p><p>It’s still raining when the game is over. Part of her itches to put her palm outside the window and feel the rain. The cool drops of rainwater splash across her palm and shock her back to reality. It’s so easy, she thinks, to get lost in that game, especially when that setter takes the court.</p><p>He’s remarkable, she’ll give him that. To manage the team, control their moods, reroute their attention while managing the probabilities of each play; exhausting.</p><p>She almost laughs.</p><p>He’s a <em>freak</em>, but then again, she is too.</p><p>That type of control is both tiring and comforting.</p><p>“Hey!” there’s a voice that breaks through her train of thought, her hand is still on the windowsill, but she doesn’t move, not straight away. She stares out the window for a moment before shoving her hand into the pocket of her jacket.</p><p>Then she turns around.</p><p>.</p><p>She blinks.</p><p>It’s that <em>setter. </em>From the court, the guy who winked at her raised brows and muffled smile. Surely, he’s not speaking to her, he doesn’t know her and she doesn’t know him so what possible reason would have for—</p><p>“Was that your first game?” he smiles at her, easily, simply, as if he’s known her all her life and tilts his head to the side.</p><p>—of <em>course,</em> he’s speaking to her.</p><p>“What gave it away?” she asks and crosses her arms underneath her chest; defensive. She doesn’t know why.</p><p>“The jaw drop and wide-eyed look,” he grins at her, it’s different this time—his eyes crinkle and his shoulders are looser.</p><p>A star volleyball player speaking with a normal girl who’s not giving him an inch, because if she does, he’ll take a mile—he’s not the only one that can read body language. He must be used to the attention, the girls, the media, she muses. Why else would he fish for compliments?</p><p>She shrugs and assesses him with a quick look. She reads the name on his shirt: <em>Oikawa Tooru</em> and says, “I’ve never been to a sports game before.”</p><p>Oikawa blinks in surprise, “<em>Seriously?</em>”</p><p>“Sports…were never very interesting to me,” she answers back slowly and almost smirks when his smile drops, “I mean, they still aren’t, but I’ve never seen a team play like that before. Not even when we have class.”</p><p>The smile comes back, “Sports teams are a bit different.”</p><p>“So I see,” she replies dryly and turns back to face the window. She puts her hand out, determined to see if it was still raining.</p><p>“I’m Oikawa Tooru,” he introduces himself, but she doesn’t turn back to look at him; not just yet.</p><p>“I know,” she says and smiles when the rain stops, “I can read your shirt.”</p><p>Oikawa’s eyebrow twitches and she can see his personality fracture through the reflection. She turns around and picks up her bag from the ground, “You’re a good player, Oikawa.”</p><p>“Thanks,” he grins this time and walks closer; confidence exuding. He’s charming, she sees that and it should make her nervous, but she thinks she likes making him tic. “Are you going to come to the next game?”</p><p>She quirks a brow, “Why would I do that?”</p><p>Oikawa’s smile drops for a moment, dark brown eyes widen for a moment at the blunt question, and he fumbles for a response.  </p><p>“I only came because it was raining,” she replies nonchalantly and tugs the bag over her shoulder, “Didn’t feel like getting sick, you see.”</p><p>He presses his lips together, “Will you come see me play?”</p><p>She stares and her brain stutters for a brief second. She didn’t realize—still didn’t realize that he was setting her up for a question she didn’t have the answer to. Karma, that’s what it is. She looks at him warily and quickly, looks for an answer, “We don’t know each other. Why should I come see you play?”</p><p>“Why are you answering my question with a question?” Oikawa takes back his confidence, if her blasé answers were going to throw him off, the least he could do is be honest—the type of honest that’s sincere because she’s too smart to fall for his tricks. “Obviously, so I can show you that volleyball is not <em>just </em>a sport.”</p><p>“To you,” she quips quickly and shifts her weight to her ankles. Then she curls her lip upwards, “You’re good, Oikawa, maybe if you’re <em>great </em>I’ll come to another game,” A little heat never hurt anyone, “Inter-high is coming up, right? Make it through and I’ll think about it.”</p><p>It almost sounds like a <em>date.</em></p><p>Almost.</p><p>She decides to leave him then, with his eyebrows raised and lips soft. So soft, she’s sure if she reaches out and brushes his lower lip with the pad of her thumb, that it’ll feel like the edges of a crinkled flower petal.</p><p>“Are you going to tell me your name?” Oikawa almost goads, but there’s a desperation in his tone that is far too good to ignore.</p><p>She points to her back with her thumb; her senior jacket with her last name glinting under the dim lowlights of the ceiling.</p>
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